


Tethers

by orphan_account



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he cannot begin to comprehend the differences between them and yet here he was holding this book, a tether crossing centuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tethers

The first time Ichabod finds himself in Abbie’s bedroom he is greeted to the sight of two large bookshelves against the far wall. It was strange being in a place so intimately her’s and the sense of vague unease, his uncertainty of where to look and what to touch was immediately soothed. He quickly strode to his familiar friends, twitching fingers reaching out to run down the length of their spines.

Many of the titles he didn’t recognize. Though some he did, he was surprised to see Aristotle’s Politics on a low shelf nestled between what appeared to be rather large books on the unfamiliar subject of psychology though he is not surprised by it’s apparent neglect. He pulls it from the shelf and his mind conjures up a vision of a young robed Abbie amongst the stacks at Oxford, pulling incredulous faces as she reads in the soft glow of candlelight.

And he then pauses, lingers on the image, because surely her experience must have been so very different from his own. Sometimes he can not begin to comprehend the differences between them and yet here he was holding this book, a tether crossing centuries.

“Found It!” Abbie says popping up from the floor of her closet and kicking articles of clothing back behind the doors.

“Wish I could say that’s the last time I’ll be bringing work home.”

Ichabod spots a scrap of lace near her foot and it sends his chin and eyes soaring towards the ceiling.

She comes to a stop in front of him, and he drops his eyes just in time to watch her cringe.

“Oh God you found Aristotle.”

Ichabod can’t help but smirk down at her.

“Please, don’t make me talk about him, cause its gonna make that time I called greek mythology trite male power fantasies look like a cake walk.”

“As much as I enjoyed that particular drunken spat,” and now Ichabod is smiling because that statement is not far from the truth and he is endlessly amused at the twinge of panic dawning in Abbie’s eyes. “and though I’ll be the first to admit Artistole was a very influential thinker, I always secretly felt..”

“That he was a bit of an ass” Abbie interrupts.

Ichabod hmms and nods and Abbie laughs sweetly, genuinely, all shining eyes and bright mischievous smile and the sight of her leaves him a little breathless, sends an increasingly treacherous warmth blooming anew in his chest. But he can’t help but lean in closer as she takes the book from his hand.

“But you kept it?” he questions.

She peers up at him from beneath her lashes, smiling.

“Maybe, it’s hard for me to throw out old things.” she teases. And then she steps away, and Ichabod is left keenly aware of the absence of her warmth where it had been so close and heady just moments before. Abbie places the book on her dresser and lingers in the doorway.

“You want some tea?” she asks.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

She smiles and turns, and Ichabod watches her as she goes before sucking in a deep breath there alone in her room. He tries to steady himself as he reaches for the book, tries to pack away whatever is awakening within him as easily as he returns the book to its proper place on its shelf.

But he lingers amongst the tomes, runs his fingers down their spines imagining her laughter, her smiles, her tears, imagining the epiphanies and affirmations alike she found amongst the pages, her eager delight at their discovery and his hand stills over a particularly well cracked spine. It’s a small work of fiction, the pages within earmarked and well worn with little notes littering the margins. In a moment of indulgence, he pockets it.

He hears Abbie closing cupboards in the kitchen and knows he’s dawdled too long. He calls out to her, hoping to cover his reason for loitering in her room, the book heavy in his coat’s inside pocket, close to his chest.

“I have encountered some truly incomprehensible organizational schemes in my day, but by _color_ , of all things?”

“Oh my god Crane, it is literally two bookcases.” she shouts back from the kitchen. And he lets himself really smile his chin ducking towards his chest, before striding out of the room and making his way back to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for ichabbiebookclub.tumblr.com, but just recently finished. On the days I’m feeling really angsty, the book Ichabod borrows is Toni Morrison’s ‘Home’.


End file.
